His Windy-lady
by Magic-tofu
Summary: Love was a grown-up feeling, so, naturally, Peter had to grow up. Loosely based on 2003 movie-verse.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Love was a grown-up feeling, so, naturally, Peter had to grow up.

His choice on the matter unfortunately did not matter. After all, all children wish to never grow up, yet they all one day become men and women, both outwardly and inwardly. It's a process too underhanded to quash.

It takes only one very special thing for a child to take the first step into adulthood. For some, it is the wonder for which they have in grown-up doings, like dressing up or looking mightily important. For others it is the desire for independence, a quest to prove them worthy of taking on the world.

For Peter Pan, it was his Wendy.

Of course, Peter didn't know that. All he knew was that after she and the Lost Boys stepped off the Jolly Roger, he returned to Neverland feeling awfully lonely with only Wendy on his mind, yet out of his life.


	2. Unhappy

**Chapter One: Unhappy**

The seasons had gone and went and came back again, but, of course, that didn't matter in Neverland, for the weather had hardly changed since the Darling left – or more precisely, since the boy came back.

The daytime skies were still blue as were the nights still violet, but the sun was frequently shrouded by dismally deflated clouds and the stars no longer winked into the sea, but nodded off to sleep.

Peter Pan spent most of his days searching for new adventures in Neverland, but ever since the triumph of Hook, he had yet to find another nemesis that could take his mind off of Wendy. He was forced to resort to picking on the captain-less crew that Hook had left behind, which, considering its ease, was pitiful entertainment.

Some days, he would visit Tiger Lily of the Piccaninny Tribe and they would flirt and play as they always did. Other days he would chase the creatures of Neverland, flying after the orange-feathered raywing bird, or stalking the various frogs of Neverland's swamps.

And all the time, he would wish that Wendy was there to see him. He wished for her to celebrate his triumphs with him, to envy his attention for Tiger Lily, and to play silly games with him. But she was not.

Once in a while, Peter would fulfill his job as father of the Lost Boys by returning to the mainland, not to see his old friends, for they had moved on, but to find new ones. He would visit the orphanages of the world, and pick up unhappy children to take off to Neverland, where he promised a carefree existence and wonderful adventures.

In the year that had passed since his time with Wendy, he had managed to find only one Lost Boy. Children were growing increasingly cynical those days, disbelieving of Peter's promises.

"Why would I go with you?" one scrawny child asked from under his threadbare sheet.

"To have adventures, of course!" Peter replied.

"I've never heard of Neverland…" the boy trailed on, seemingly deep in thought. "This could be kidnap for all I know."

Skepticism, a mark of a child? No.

But he asked, "How do we get there?"

Curiosity? Yes.

"We fly."

The boy jumped up from his bed. "Fly?" he inquired, wrinkling his nose in doubt. "We can't fly". He was proving to be very difficult.

Then, Peter leapt – flew - from the windowsill to the foot of the boy's bed. "Of course we can," retorted Peter, smiling his mischievous grin. When Tinkerbell zipped up by Peter's ear, and the boy saw her, the deal was sealed.

And so, business was taken care of and off to Neverland they soared. Upon declaring the child as a Lost Boy, Peter crowned him with a band of bright orange raywing feathers and called him Scoffs.

Scoffs reminded Peter very much of Nibs, for he was very clever. In fact, he was a bit too clever for Peter's comfort.

"You're unhappy, Father," Scoffs declared one day, as if he was diagnosing Peter with an illness he had thoroughly considered.

Peter crinkled his nose. "What makes you say that?"

The symptoms, Scoffs explained, were that Peter always had a "faraway look" in his eyes whenever he was "queerly quiet", "whimpered" a lot about a "windy lady" in his sleep, and became "very sad very quickly."

"And you also sigh a little, every time, after we go on adventures or play," Scoffs finished.

"Ha!" Peter dismissed. "I know no sadness!"

"But – "

"Shoo! Leave!" Peter flung his arms wildly about. "Father needs rest."

Scoffs did not leave the tree, but immediately retired to bed. When Peter heard a snore from his companion, he let out a huff of breath. _Unhappy?_

_Perhaps I may be. Just a bit. _

He scratched his head.

_But about what? Wendy will know. _

She always knows.

_And she will make me happy again._

"Tink?" Peter whispered into the darkness.

A ball of light whizzed up to Peter's nose.

"Tink, we must visit the boys."

She raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

"… And Wendy," Peter confessed.

Twinkle, Twinkle. Ring, Ring! _No._

"I know I shouldn't see them again, for they have decided to grow up, but – just one more time," he pleaded.

Peter was never one to beg, for the world was his. However, ever since Tinkerbelle's light went off for him, he tried to make concessions for her, his one true friend, his guardian fairy.

She stomped her tiny feet in mid-air. _No!_

"Oh, Tinkerbelle, please? I just need Wendy to fix me up, and then we'll come straight back!"

The fairy wouldn't budge, for Peter was hers, and she wouldn't allow that Wendy to ever hurt him again…

"I promise!"

…but he was so desperate for comfort that she couldn't deny him of it.

Jingle, jingle. _Fine._

"You'll always be the best, Tink!" Peter took her in his hands and smacked a quick kiss on her small head. "We'll go tonight and we'll be back by sunrise!"

Xxxxxxxxx

There it was, trusty window, still open for Peter Pan. The lights were off, but Peter could easily awaken the children, and he supposed they wouldn't mind.

He pranced off the windowsill, but landed quietly, and due to the darkness, he could make out only the three beds that had always been there.

Peter could barely contain his excitement as he tiptoed straight towards what he remembered as Wendy's bed. His heart had quickened to a little dance by then and a smile was pushing the corners of his lips to his ears.

Careful not to startle his friend, he softly sat down on the side of the bed.

"Wendy," he whispered into nothingness.

No reply. _Heavy sleeper._

"Wendy," Peter said a bit louder in singsong. Still nothing.

_Perhaps I should shake her a bit._

He reached out to where he believed her shoulders to be and grabbed, this time eager to surprise Wendy. However, he was surprised instead by the lack of a body.

"Wendy?" he called aloud. Tinkerbelle had fluttered over the bed, and her light illuminated nothing but bed sheets.

Worried, Peter rushed to the other two beds. Had a new villain taken her away? Upon flinging off the comforters, he found no one as well. _Where are they? Have they left me? Are they mad at me for never visiting them? Or are they in danger? No, Hook is gone! Maybe they are elsewhere in the house._

Peter flew out the Darling's nursery and into the halls of their home, which were unlit as well.

"Wendy!" he shouted. "Slightly! Nibs! Is there anybody here?!"

Alas, after shouting himself hoarse, Peter found himself unhappier than before. He returned to the bedroom, slid down against the wall by Wendy's bed, and cried, as he had done once long ago when he lost only his shadow.

Minutes passed until Peter felt a tug on his hair. Looking up from his crouch and quickly drying his tears so that none will see, he unsurprisingly found Tink.

"What?" he grumbled, still sniffling.

The little light gestured towards Wendy's bed, and Peter found a small paper package wedged tightly in between the wooden bed frame and the wall. He wriggled it loose.

_A ransom note? Are they indeed in trouble?_

He found something more pleasant instead, something just short of Wendy herself.

Peter tenderly unfolded the little package, as if he was holding a wounded bird. Out fell a little trinket, that clattered to the floor with a clink. When Peter retrieved it, he was delighted that it was a kiss! He placed the peculiar metal cup at the tip of his index finger and turned his attention to the piece of paper.

_How strange. _Etched in straight lines across the paper were curly symbols. _Did Wendy make this? What is she trying to say?_ After pondering over the markings for a long time, Peter recalled that these markings were letters. _Letters make words_.

It is a pity that Peter had escaped to Neverland before he attended school, and therefore, he never learned how to read or write.

"Tink, can you tell me what this says?"

She peered at the words and letters and shook her head, shaking fairy dust all over.

Peter sighed. This night was a disappointment indeed, when it should have been a happy reunion. Resigning to his "unhappiness" he climbed the windowsill.

"I guess it's time to go," he mumbled. He felt tears threaten to fall and his eyes stung with his effort to suppress them.

Tinkerbelle nodded avidly and sped ahead of him.

Peter took one last look at the bedroom behind him and prepared to take flight, tightly gripping the paper Wendy had left him.

_Good-bye._

He stepped off the windowsill.

And fell.


	3. Falling

_A/N thanks to everyone that reviewed, faved, or followed my story :)_

_It means a lot to me and they really motivate me to keep writing._

_Here's the second chapter, and I'm happy to say that Wendy will come in soon!_

_Disclaimer: Peter Pan belongs to JM Barrie, and some of the quotes in this story belong to him._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 2: Falling**

It would be wonderful to say that a slippery windowsill was the culprit behind Peter's fall and that he had not lost his gift of flight. But then, there would be no story.

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He tumbled to the earth below, and although he was cushioned by freshly fallen snow, the blow to his back was unlike any pummeling he'd ever endured in Neverland. More terrifyingly, the fall itself was alien to the boy who always flew.

For once, he felt weighted.

_Happy thoughts. They lift you into the air!_

But he was being pulled down.

A few moments passed before Tinkerbelle hastily returned to Peter. She cocked her head in bewilderment, like a bird, for Peter was never one to linger on the ground, yet he was currently lying flat on his back.

She zipped up to his face and hovered, peering intently over her precious boy. It worried her that her restless companion was deadly still. She moved in closer to his face… closer, closer… until he suddenly blinked.

"Tink," he began in a hollow voice. "I fell."

She jingled and shrugged. _Well, get back up!_ She was growing impatient.

"Tink."

Ring.

"I've never fallen before." He was still lying on the snow.

Tinkerbelle tensed in realization, for it was true. She then yanked Peter's hair upward so that he would get up and gestured for him to fly.

Sore from the fall and the bite of the cold, he tried. He lightly kicked off of his right foot, like he always had, but all he managed was a pathetic hop. He kicked harder a second time, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and many times afterwards, but none had been successful.

_Think happy thoughts! _

_Neverland. Adventures. Sword-fighting. Codfish Hook. Stupid pirates._

_The Lost Boys. Stories. Never growing up._

_Wendy._

By the time he reached what would've been his seventieth hop, Tinkerbelle was fluttering in a frantic dance above him, pouring fairy dust all over his head and shoulders, but to no avail.

_Sad thoughts bring you down._

Peter tired, and for the third time that night, he wanted to cry.

"I'm stuck here, Tinkerbelle," he sobbed, eyes and nose red from sadness and cold. "Wendy's gone," he sniffled. "Now I can't fly! I can't go home!"

Tinkerbelle, being the small emotional creature she was, also began to swell up with tears. Peter had slipped back into his curled-up crying position, as he had done earlier in Wendy's bedroom, and the fairy slumped atop his shoulder. Within a few moments, both of their faces were tear-stained and swollen.

Crying, Peter soon realized, was a tiring task. His head throbbed, his throat hurt, and his eyes stung; worst of all, he couldn't stop. After several strenuous hours, he fell asleep, sitting on a bed of snow.

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He woke up to the tugging of his hair. His eyes felt unusually sticky. It was deep into the night, and snow was falling.

Tinkerbelle rubbed her hands against her arms and pointed at Peter. _Cold._

She flew up and through the open window and a few seconds later, the front door of the Darling house was open. She directed Peter inside, and together, they rested on Wendy's empty bed.

"What are we going to do?" the boy asked, fiddling with his kiss.

Jingle. _Try again tomorrow._

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_"__Goodbye Peter!" Wendy exclaimed, leaning over the windowsill, smiling and waving. _

_Floating, Peter placed his hands on his hips. "Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."_

_Wendy placed her fingers over her lips in shame for having uttered such a thing. But she quickly recovered and smiled at him once again. "Don't forget me, Peter."_

_"__Me? Forget? Never."_

_Her grin widened, and Peter's butterflies danced in his stomach. "Will you be back?"_

_"__I've got to listen to my own stories haven't I?"_

_Wendy giggled. "Of course."_

Before he could reach the painful part of his dream, his memory of an unsaid good-bye, Peter was shaken awake by a pair of hands. _Hands? _He jumped up, immediately alert, and backed all the way up to the wall.

For a brief second, he was blinded by the white morning light, but as soon as his eyes adjusted, he saw who it was.

In front of him was a girl, who looked about his size, with short, messy golden hair and pale skin. Wrapped around her was a makeshift dress of white sheets, concealing the curves that would otherwise mark her a woman.

"Tinkerbelle!" Peter shouted, searching the room for a ball of light, wide-eyed and shocked. "Tink! Where– "

The girl had pressed her small hands over his mouth and opened her lips to speak, but no words came out – just a whimper of a voice like bells.

She brought her hands up to her throat in shock as Peter's surprise died down. Then, realization dawned on him.

"Tinkerbelle?"

The girl frantically nodded as the boy dropped his jaw and widened his eyes.

"Tink! You're _human_."

Tinkerbelle rolled her eyes at his obvious statement.

"You're _human_! How are we going to fly back to Neverland now? Please tell me you still have your fairy dust!"

She shook her head dismally.

"We can't stay here!"

Tinkerbelle looked at Peter with sad eyes. It was time to grow up, and she knew exactly why.

"We don't belong!"

She wiped from Peter's face a tear that was threatening to fall. She had always wanted to do that, to comfort him, especially in the previous night.

Before Peter could weep anymore, Tinkerbelle's stomach growled.

He stifled a sob. "You must be hungry."

She nodded. She never ate more than a handful of nuts and berries her whole life and now that she was human, her body required much more sustenance.

Peter wiped his face dry and cleared his throat, retaining his usual proud demeanor. "We can't have that can we?"

He paused in thought. Then, in a slow voice, he reasoned to himself, "If we're away from home, it's an adventure."

He tucked Wendy's letter and kiss safely under the leaves by his waist. " Right Tink?"

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This adventure was turning out… not adventurous. For one, Peter always had _fun_ on his adventures, and always _won_ if there was any competition about. Now, he was having neither. Instead, a bigger, stronger man was holding Peter's arms tightly behind his back, as a warm loaf of bread lied soaking up cold city slush on the ground in front of them.

A crowd had formed around the pair, and Tinkerbelle was desperately trying to reach the middle, where the scene was playing out. Her small size was at her advantage as she frantically weaved her way through the crowd.

Tinkerbelle and Peter should've quit the moment they stepped onto the street - they had earned too many glares of suspicion.

"Thief!" cried the man as he tightened his grip on Peter's arms.

Peter grimaced in pain and shouted, "You have a whole tray full back there! I just needed _one_!"

"You could've gotten it if you'd paid!" the man bellowed.

"Oi, get off the streets thief! You belong in the orphanage!" pitched in a man from the crowd.

"Aye, you're the second one this week!" a woman agreed.

The man began to shove his way through the crowd.

"Where're you taking me?" demanded Peter.

"Where you belong!"

Tinkerbelle finally caught up and threw herself before the man. She silently pleaded for him to let her Peter free.

"Outta the way, girl!" He shoved Tinkerbelle aside.

She trailed on after them, her bed sheet gown collecting muddy snow and becoming heavier with each step.

"Hey! Don't push her!" Peter struggled harder to break free, but his captor wouldn't budge.

Just as Tinkerbelle was about to pounce on the man from behind, a portly woman opened the door of the shop they were passing and flew onto the street.

"Oh my!" she shrieked upon witnessing the scene before her. "Have mercy, Albert! He's half naked and she's wearing a bed sheet for goodness sake!"

"He stole my bread. I'm taking him to Miss Ophelia's."

"Oh, this should cover it," the woman huffed, handing the man called Albert a few coins.

He nodded, and thrust Peter forward. Before returning to his bakery, the baker pointed at his thief, and gruffly warned, "Don't let me catch you stealing again."

"Oh, please forgive Al. He's always getting his knickers in a twist for the smallest of things," explained the woman.

Tinkerbelle nodded and smiled.

"Er, thanks," mumbled Peter. He had never thanked a grown-up before.

"Where are you two going?" the woman asked as the odd pair turned to leave.

Peter shrugged. It was true. If they couldn't fly, there was no Neverland. And if there was no Neverland, there was no home.

"Well, come on in," the missus invited, their silence having answered her question. She climbed the steps and opened the door to her shop. "I'm sure you dears are hungry."

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Her name was Jane Pfeiffer. "Just call me Jane."

The shop was bright from the sunlight reflecting on the ivory dresses on display. "I make wedding dresses," explained Jane, "and other things of the sort. Evening dresses, nightgowns, men's suits, hats… but mostly wedding attire. Nothing makes me happier than a glowing bride."

She was a small chubby woman, with peppered hair and a warm smile, but what stood out most to Peter were her inquisitive eyes. Her gaze lingered on him, as if she knew him, and she was certainly very observant.

She had led them to a small table at the back of the shop, where she brought out steamy bowls of breakfast from an upstairs kitchen.

"Those leaves," she said, pointing at Peter's "clothes", "Did you weave them together yourself?"

Peter nodded, mouth overstuffed with a creamy grain meal Jane had just freshly prepared.

"My, they're exquisitely handled," she gasped in wonder.

"Tharngs," Peter replied through a full mouth.

"You must be no more than thirteen or fourteen. What's your name dear?"

"Pe-er."

"Peter?"

He nodded.

"And you?" she asked Tinkerbelle.

Tinkerbelle pointed to her throat and sadly shook her head.

"Oh, poor sweetheart, what a pity! Peter? What's your sister called?"

Peter swallowed. "Tinkerbelle."

Jane chuckled. "That's an odd name, 'tis a nickname am I correct?"

Peter cast a sideways glance at Tink. She nodded, caught in the moment.

"Well, I can see why you call her that – she's a beauty. And her birth name?"

_What's a girl name in London? Wendy? No, she can't be called a Wendy, she'd despise it!_

"Why don't you guess?" offered Peter. _Oh, the cleverness of me!_

"Hmm, alright then. Meredith?"

Tinkerbelle immediately shook her head.

"Cynthia."

_No._

"Abigail."

"Cassandra."

"Felicity!"

_No, no, no._

"Lillian."

"Yes!" piped up Peter.

Tinkerbelle shot a bewildered look at Peter. _Lillian?_

Truth be told, Tinkerbelle probably would have never settled on a name had Peter not made the decision. No ordinary name would have satisfied her.

"It's Lillian?" inquired Jane.

Tinkerbelle glanced at Peter to see him giving a very slight nod. She nodded, confirming her new name.

What she didn't know was that he chose Lillian because it reminded him of Tiger Lily, who was back in Neverland, a piece of his home, and a piece of him.

"Well, Peter and Lillian, have you two any place to go?"

"No." Peter hated it, but Neverland was gone, as far as the stars, a memory he could never reach again.

"Would you like to work with me? Both of you. Peter, you have skillful hands, and Lillian, I could use some help cleaning."

Silence. They had never worked before.

"I won't be able to pay you, but I can give you three meals a day, and a place to sleep," offered Jane with a hopeful smile.

Peter looked at Tinkerbelle, waiting for her to answer. Jane had given them warmth and food when they had just lost their home, and Peter was the happiest he had been since the events of last night.

She smiled and nodded, giving their savior a silent thanks.

Jane beamed. "Oh how wonderful! I've always wanted children. We shall be like a family now!" She looked at Peter, in particular. "What say you?"

"So, you shall be my new mother?" Peter hopefully asked.

Still smiling, Jane began to tear up. "If you wish."


	4. To Live

**Chapter 3: To Live**

"To live would be an awfully big adventure."

To Peter Pan, living – growing – was less of an adventure than an endless chase of time.

In his first year with Mother Jane, he had noticeably grown a whole three inches, much to his panic.

"Don't worry; you'll slow down," Jane told him, baffled at his reaction to a perfectly natural process.

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When Mother Jane sent him to school, despite his insistent protest, Peter learned that he was nowhere close to being king of this world. He started off with nothing – no respect, no friends, no admirers, and no foes, contrary to his status in Neverland. However, over the course of a few weeks, he had obtained a reputation for being a mischief maker, and even more so as every proper young lady's shameful crush.

Unfortunately, Peter's cocky attitude and growing popularity inevitably brought him new foes, and he was armed only with his agility and lingering innocence.

Jerry Winston was not exactly bully, but a boy who needed attention. Peter became the bane of Winston's school life, for it was Winston who once was the coveted "bad boy." So, as fate would have it, a jealous Winston happily discovered that his rival lived and worked at Jane's Bridal dress shop.

The news spread like scurvy, and soon, Peter was the main subject of derision at Penning's Communal Academy.

"Dress boy," Winston would scoff as he passed by Peter in the gray school hallways.

One day, Peter decided that he would have none of it, despite Mother Jane's advice to ignore it. He was once Peter Pan, king of Neverland, the boy who never grew up, fought pirates, and flew! Oh, how the London school boys would envy him and how all the young ladies would vie for his attention!

But no. He was the "dress boy."

Instead of allowing Winston to pass him undisturbed and amused that day, Peter decided to finally release his childish anger.

After taking a swing at the much taller and thicker Jerry Winston, and having suffered several blows to the stomach himself, Peter had no choice but to run. He escaped, but the next day, he was expelled.

Apparently, the Winstons were a very rich and influential family that made annual donations to the academy. One would wonder why they sent their eldest son to a public school, instead of a prestigious boarding school, to mingle with lowly scum like Peter.

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Despite his lack of a formal education, Peter had proven himself an incredibly fast learner. At first, his forgetfulness and school days made it difficult for him to learn all the different types of stitches and fabrics, but within a few months of dedicating his full time to the dress shop, his memory skills improved vastly and he was a proud assistant to his mother.

He also learned to read and write and do arithmetic from Judith.

Prior to adopting Peter and Tinkerbelle, Miss Pfeiffer employed two older girls, Judith and Cassie, both seemingly the same age as "Lillian". Judith Engle was working for Jane in hopes of earning enough money to attend a medical school.

"Times are changing, Lily," she told Tinkerbelle in a fit of passion. "It's 1905! There ought to be more professional women."

Tinkerbelle simply shrugged at Judith's rant. She liked the shop and she loved the dresses. She couldn't see herself doing anything but making dresses every day, living in a dream of satin and lace, humming her Neverland tunes as she swept the floors, and forever being the apple of Jane's eye.

She felt wholly _loved _for the first time, and she deserved it.

Although Judith spent most of her free time studying medicine, the intelligent young woman had agreed to teach Peter and Tinkerbelle the basics of language and math. They'd study whenever business was slow, and Judith would occasionally linger after closing hours to help the pair practice. Soon, Tinkerbelle was able to communicate through a notepad and pen.

And over time, Peter was able to decipher more and more of Wendy's letter.

When he found that she had addressed him as "Dear Peter," his long dormant butterflies came fluttering back.

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On the anniversary of Peter and Tinkerbelle's adoption, Mother Jane declared it as their "Found-day," and that they were then a year older.

"Peter, you're fifteen now, alright? And Lillian, dear, you're of marrying age." She paused in thought, and then smiled. "But don't think that I'll be giving your hand to anybody any time soon. I've yet to spend more time with my daughter," she concluded, pecking her Lily on the cheek.

Jane was always struggling to give them an identity. It frustrated her to no end that her two kids came to her having nothing but their names.

After a slow day of work (thanks to heavy snowfall), the little family and Judith and Cassie celebrated with pudding.

And Peter received his first grown-up kiss from Cassie. It was no thimble but as real as a kiss can get.

"You know, Peter, you're extremely handsome," she cooed, peering at him from under her long lashes, as they were cleaning the dishes. The other three women were downstairs touching up a wedding dress that was to be picked up the following day.

She leaned in closer to him until their lips met. Cassie was undoubtedly a very pretty and attractive brunette who'd had her fair share of boys, but Peter never felt anything except perhaps a mild friendship for her. Still, he didn't resist.

It was clumsy but pleasurable, hands all over and heaving breaths. For the first time, Peter was succumbing to the natural desire that came with growing up. He felt uncomfortably hot and the new stirrings within his body ached for something more.

But when Cassie had her fill, she pulled away, gave the younger boy a charming smile, and wished him a Happy Found-day.

They never spoke of it again.

Peter didn't mind. He'd trade that kiss for Wendy's thimble any day.

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As the second Found-day came around the corner, Peter had memorized Wendy's letter. The sheet had grown yellow and worn from nightly readings, and the kiss – Wendy's kiss – had become dull from constant fiddling.

That year, while Peter was lost in love, Tinkerbelle fell in love. His name was Eugene Cardington.

Of course, it had to be that Mr. Cardington was the one who fell first. Tinkerbelle had been vying for attention her whole life and it only seemed right that her husband was the one to do the courting when it came down to "forever."

They met when he came to the shop to have a suit altered. Tinkerbelle, who was to become his Lily flower, charmed him with her voice and won him with her temper.

To Cassie, the "expert" of such matters, they were a match made in heaven. Eugene was patient and meticulously attentive, while Tinkerbelle was fiery yet lovely.

"But, most importantly, he's rich," Cassie stressed.

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When the second Found-day arrived, Peter finally asked his Mother why.

"Why did you take us in, mother?" he softly asked the aging woman the question that always lurked in the back of his mind.

She had given them so much, so willingly, and they had returned so little.

Brushing the unruly blonde hair out of her Peter's green eyes, she almost-whispered, "I had a husband, and a son."

And then he understood. The joyous little lady that had become their mother had been hiding a past. She needed them as much as they needed her.

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In the year of the third Found-day, Peter had grown two heads taller than his sister.

The shop was busy with wedding arrangements for its precious Lillian, its Lily, its Tinkerbelle, namely in making her wedding dress.

The affair was quite the talk of the town, for how could the Cardington's eldest son, their charming, clever, talented Eugene, settle for the humble, lowly, mute, _nameless _seamstress of the local dress shop?

Mrs. Cardington refused to proceed with the formalities that came with an aristocratic wedding; there was no lavish engagement party, no meeting of the families, and no monetary contribution to the celebration. Eugene took it upon himself to pay for a modest, close celebration that took place midsummer, while Jane crafted a flowery gossamer gown for her daughter of three years.

"Visit as much as possible," she tearfully commanded her Lillian. "Be nice to Mrs. Cardington. You are a wife now, not a girl… but should she ever upset you, remember that you are my daughter, and that I will always be there for you."

When it was Peter's turn to say good-bye, he gave his guardian fairy, his Tink, his Neverland, his sister, a tight hug. Then, all resolve to remain strong, to be the man he appeared to be, dissolved, and for one last time, he was a child for Tinkerbelle.

"You have to visit!" he sobbed down in her hair.

Tinkerbelle pulled away, and slapped his chest, glaring. _My hair!_

He laughed and she laughed, and for the first time since Neverland, it was just the two of them. No Jane, no time, no wedding, no growth. Just a boy and his fairy.

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Weeks after Tinkerbelle's wedding and move into the luxurious Cardington estate on the outskirts of town, Cassie married as well. She was to be the third wife of a rich American merchant twenty-two years her senior.

It was expected.

Judith, on the other hand was finally able to attend a medical school.

She bid Jane and Peter good-bye, and excitedly left for her new life as a doctor and eventual surgeon.

Peter made a note to himself to never forget Judith, the key to Wendy's letter.

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_Dear Peter,_

_How are you? I hope you aren't terribly lonely. I miss you very much, and I still tell stories about my adventures with you. I will never forget. Have you forgotten me? I know you haven't, because sometimes I hear a welcome sound at my window, like bells or laughter, and I know it's you. Why haven't you shown yourself? Are you upset that I left? That I took the boys with me? If you are, please forgive me, for I have to be with my mother._

_Please do not be angry. My window will always be open for you, even after I've grown up._

_It's been eight months now, since we parted. The house has been getting too small for John, Michael, and me, as well as the Lost Boys. We've all grown some, but not too much. Father's finally earned enough money to buy a bigger house. We're moving tomorrow morning._

_It's a large estate in the countryside, with a large field, so that we may run around and play. The boys are very excited about it, especially the younger ones._

_But, we are all very worried that you will not find us again. That is why I left you this letter. And the kiss. So that you will never forget._

_I know you promised never to forget, but you have an awful memory sometimes._

_Love, _

_Wendy_

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Tonight was the night before the fourth Found-day, the beginning of Peter's fifth year in London.

Peter was lying on his small mattress in the attic that was his room, looking up out the circular window. It had snowed that day, but the night was calmer and the skies were clear.

It had been so long since he was able to single out the two stars that used to lead him home. They had disappeared and joined the other nameless lights in the sky.

But the sky was beautiful either way.

Peter had just finished his nightly reading of Wendy's letter. He had it clearly etched into his head by now, but tonight was to be the last time he looked at it. He wanted to absorb every detail, every loop in her letters, and every dot of her "i"s. Tomorrow, he would put it away, tuck it safely under his bed, where he hoped it would be forgotten and forever untouched.

The kiss, he would leave in one of the shop's many sewing kits. There, like the stars, it would disappear among less interesting thimbles, and be forgotten as well.

He wished that he could tuck Wendy away, too, in a sea of look-alikes, but that was far too difficult.

But he would make her a memory, a fond memory, forever to be cherished and remembered, but never meant to come back.

Five years.

It was time to let go.

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Little did Peter know that in the spring of his fifth year, his Wendy would walk back into his life.


	5. Propriety

_Hello everybody! So sorry for the delayed update but I have been soooo busy these past few weeks._

_Again, a million thank yous to my reviewers, followers, and favers. You guys are really encouraging and make my day whenever I hear from you._

_Here's chapter 4. Enjoy :)_

_Constructive criticism will be well appreciated_

**Chapter 4 : Propriety**

It was strange, staying in London. After five years of living in the green English country, she had grown accustomed to the open arms of spring. In the spring months, the Darling estate was nothing short of a vast emerald field that blossomed with whites, yellows, and pinks, that burst with grasshoppers and pollen.

Now, in between the tall dirty buildings, teeming streets, and narrow alleyways, she suffocated. The sight of green life and natural soil was rare, and the smog of London created a thin veil that muddled the crisp spring sky.

The Darlings were staying with the Cardingtons due to a very special – though not yet official, she liked to stress - social affair.

They lived in a grand mansion on the outskirts of the city, safe from the hustle and bustle of the main streets. It was a comfortable home, not overly-lavish, but luxurious. It certainly was very large, and the garden was a pleasant sight of perfectly mowed grass and roses. What she liked most though, was the front lawn, which boasted perfect squares of green and its own personal forest of oak trees.

If she wasn't in the Cardington guest room, or reading outside on its balcony (where she had a perfect view of treetops), she was in the garden or lawn. Otherwise, she did not like to linger inside the mansion, alone with Mother, Mrs. Cardington, and a handful of servants. Mrs. Cardington was a woman of small talk, judgment, and snobbish propriety, while _she _was definitely not.

And there was Henry Cardington.

A fine gentleman, he was well-read and erudite.

"A perfect match for you, dear!" Mother had exclaimed.

Yes, she and Henry Cardington got along relatively well, and she enjoyed his company more than that of her other suitors. They had much to converse about – from literature to philosophy to botany – and she felt that he was a perfect friend. A friend.

He _should_ be perfect for her, she often thought. He had the same interests, he was definitely handsome, he respected her, _and_ he may have even loved her. He was perfect in every respect.

She felt friendship for him. Admiration. Respect. A platonic fondness.

That was as far as she _could_ go.

_Maybe there's a different kind of perfect._

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She was happy once.

_Is everyone happy only once?_

There was a time when books and stories and brothers were enough for her to survive on, to fly on.

There might've been an adventure too.

But as she grew, Mother discouraged her from reading, and implored her to learn the arts of politely smiling, politely giggling, politely sipping, politely nodding, politely speaking, politely being.

Her dream of becoming a novelist shattered with her girlhood.

Still, whenever she could, she'd spend hours in Father's small personal library, studying alone. She had read every political treatise, history account, and philosophical rendering in that room at least twice; it was possibly her proudest achievement.

_Pitiful, _she thought. _Eighteen years gone and that's all I can pride myself on._

Then John and Slightly left to a boarding school, where she knew they would get a taste of adolescent freedom among other boys their age. Afterwards, they followed Father's good friend's son (of whom she had rejected a marriage proposal) to America for higher education and the adventure of city life.

Then went Nibs, who was in South America, studying botany. Then Curly, who followed John and Slightly to America. Tootles received an early acceptance to Oxford, much to her envy.

A few weeks ago, before coming back to London, she bid farewell to the Twins – Harry and Thomas - and Michael, as they headed off on a train to the same boarding school, to follow the paths of their brothers before them, or diverge on equally exciting roads.

So, now she was alone, with her future laid neatly before her

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Peter was very professional. Sure, he was in constant contact with young ladies, having taken over the job of measuring, but there was never a slip of hand or a flirtatious comment.

Just a sly wink or crooked smile every so often.

Ever since Judith and Cassie left, Mother Jane taught him how to take measurements and tailor clothes. He had been doing so for almost two years, much to the guilty fancies of the ladies that patronized the shop.

His third client of today, a willowy redhead, had just left.

"Lily's coming by today," Mother Jane shouted from cutting some fabric in the back room, "said she'd drop by on her way to the Cardington's."

Peter's mood brightened. It had been several weeks since he had seen Tinkerbelle.

"What's the occasion?" he shouted back. "She hates the missus, it must be really special if she's going to visit her!"

"Peter! That is no way to speak of Lady Cardington!"

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"Eugene Cardington and his wife will be arriving today," said Mother. "We should order your dress before they come, lest we make an unfavorable impression."

"Of course, mum."

She had forgotten that she needed a new dress for the big night.

That's how she found herself on a quaint little London street this afternoon. Her mother had insisted on going to one of the more prominent dress shops in London, but wanting to get away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets, her daughter decided to shop on one of the less busy lanes.

"You're not going to find a decent dress here, darling," said Mother, scanning up and down the road with an uncharacteristic sneer.

"We don't know. Maybe I'll find something better," she offered upon entering a dress shop.

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A stout woman greeted them. "Hello," she beamed at her new clients. "I'm Jane."

Mother curtly nodded while her daughter smiled back.

"What can I help you with, Miss…?"

"Darling," answered Mother. "We need an evening gown for this Saturday."

"That's a bit fast, but I think we can manage."

"Are you sure it will be of high quality? I do not wish to waste anyone's time, should this dress be poorly made."

"I can assure you, we make only the best," the shop owner replied, her kindly demeanor faltering.

"Good," piped the younger Darling, smiling, hoping to ease the tension before the two older women.

Jane directed her attention to the girl and regained her friendly composure. "This way, Miss Darling, for measurements." She cleared her throat and tossed a sideways glance at the tense mother. "If you don't mind, my _son _is in charge of measurements," she explained, "and I really must finish a suit right now…"

"That's fine," said the young lady.

"_No_," stressed the older with clenched teeth. "It is _improper_."

"Mother," she began in a whisper. "_Seven boys_. I grew up with _seven _boys. I think I can handle _one_," she chuckled.

She turned and followed Jane.

"Don't worry Miss Darling, he's very professional."

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"I hope you don't mind waiting for a few minutes. He's just tidying up some supplies upstairs."

The Darling nodded. When the shopkeeper left the small dressing room, she began to undress, removing her blouse and skirt, as needed for measurements.

She turned to a mirror leaning against the wall and observed herself.

_Really, Mother? Is this corset really necessary?_

It was a hassle to breathe wearing all those undergarments.

She heard the click of an opening door, which interrupted her thoughts. And who she met took her breath away.

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Blue eyes. Light brown hair. A familiar face. A hidden kiss.

_Is it really…?_

Peter froze.

_It couldn't be…_

He slowly closed the door behind him and gulped.

They young woman before him looked as stunned as he felt, but there didn't seem to be a look of recognition on her face. Confusion, there was.

As if in a trance, she gradually made her way toward him, taking slow, hesitant steps. She stopped right in front of him, and peered up at his face, stopping just a few inches short of touching his lips.

His heart was rapidly jumping and his hands were clammy with sweat.

He took in her round blue eyes, little pools of Neverland seas, her curious stare, like the very first look she'd ever given him, her rosy lips, which he remembered to be soft and sweet, her light wispy brown hair, still wavy and carefree as he remembered, even though it was held back by a ribbon.

This was her.

His Wendy.

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Those green eyes. She had seen them before, in a dream.

A childhood dream.

No, but now they were on this boy.

And this certainly was not a dream.

Was it?

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Her face was still very close to his, and he could feel her warm breath brush his neck. She stared deeply into his eyes, and, although he was overjoyed he had found her, the whole situation was, truthfully, unnerving.

Finally, after an eternity of pondering into his eyes, she lifted her hand up, bringing her fingers to his face.

It was like the sudden contact had awoken her from her trance, for she pulled back and stepped backwards as soon as her fingertips met his cheek.

Blue broke from green, and now he could see a blush creeping up her neck as she shyly turned away and cleared her throat.

A brief silence passed.

"Er – sorry, I – um," she stuttered.

For a few seconds, Peter was befuddled himself, but he regained his charming poise.

Cockily smiling and peering at her from under his long lashes, he replied, "It's alright. I have that effect on all my customers."

Wendy straightened her back and wrinkled her eyebrows, shooting him an indignant look.

Now Peter was humiliated.

_Stupid, stupid, _he thought angrily, although he couldn't help but fondly recall that she did have a haughty attitude at times.

_Should I call her girlie?_

"Sorry," he apologized under her authoritative glare.

She broke eye contact again. "You just reminded me of someone, that's all," she coolly declared.

"Are you going to take my measurements now?" She demanded, before he could ask who.

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She couldn't help but stare as he moved around her, swiftly pulling the measuring tape across her features and jotting down numbers.

She had decided that he was attractive, with his lightly tanned skin, boyish features and lean build, not to mention his messy brown hair was beyond delightful.

She resisted the strong urge to run her fingers through it, though she had the feeling he wouldn't mind.

Despite all this, she could not get her mind off of his eyes. She had seen them before, long ago, but she couldn't recall when or where.

Well, she could, but they were in a dream.

A dream of flying, of fairies, of adventure, of love.

Yet she _knew _those eyes were the exact pair she had seen before.

But in a dream. A dream.

A dream?

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He felt hot. All this contact with the girl he had been waiting for forever was overwhelming.

He tried not to let his thoughts wander whenever his fingers brushed her bare skin, but the mere touch sent a frenzy of tingles up his arm.

When he measured her chest area, an intense blush threatened to spill over his skin like a cup of bright red watercolors.

_Calm down, Peter. It's just Wendy._

The thought made him want to explode with tears of joy.

It was just Wendy.

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When she left, much to his dismay, he wondered. After all, most girls who passed through the shop were young brides.

He had finally gathered the courage to ask Mother Jane a few minutes before Tinkerbelle arrived.

"Ahem."

"Yes, Peter?" she asked loftily, working on a suit.

"That girl, that just left…"

"Which one?" She sounded a bit more interested.

"Umm, the one with the blue eyes… and brown hair," he trailed off.

"Oh, Miss Darling, you mean?"

"Yes!"

"What about her?" Mother Jane had stopped her work to focus on her boy.

"Um…" _How was he going to ask this?_

"You want to know if she's getting married or not?" she asked knowingly, slyly smiling.

He shrugged.

"Well, she certainly was very pretty," she continued, sewing a button on the suit, acting unconcerned.

"So… is she?"

"Yes."

His stomach dropped as his butterflies died.

Of course. He was stupid to hope for otherwise.

Mother Jane heaved a loud sigh. "_No, _she's not."

Now, he felt light as feather, and his fluttery friends were reborn.

"At least, not that I know of. She needed an evening gown." She put a hand on her hip and gave Peter an inquiring look. "Peter, do you like her?"

He was taken aback. He shook his head immediately, but his belated response indicated otherwise. "She's an old friend."

His mother gave him a concerned glance and resumed her work. "Please don't be, dear. It'll earn you nothing but bad gossip. And her mother won't spare you a second thought."

Before the conversation could continue further, Tinkerbelle and Eugene arrived.

The petite lunged at Peter, dropping her floppy hat in the process, as her husband made his way to Jane and courteously pecked her on both cheeks.

"I hope you're well Mother," said Eugene.

"Oh, of course! I'm always happy to see you two!" Mother Jane shrieked, red with happiness, as she tightly squeezed her Lily. "You must be hungry."

Tinkerbelle nodded frantically, as her husband followed Jane upstairs to help.

Sitting at the sewing table, Tinkerbelle pulled out a notepad and pen, and scribbled.

_Come to the Cardington's Saturday at 8._

"Why?" grimaced Peter.

_You must. Big party._

"So?"

_Girls! Ladies!_

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Tink rolled her eyes, and continued to write.

_I want you to be happy! Love._

Then, it struck him. The Cardingtons were a family of high standing, and it was certain that every family of high society would be there. The Darlings would be there. Wendy would be there.

He looked at Tinkerbelle excitedly, and she was taken by surprise at his sudden enthusiasm.

"Tink! I must find a suit!"

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_I hope you guys liked that! I can't wait to write the next chapter, I have soooo much planned. Squeeeee!_


	6. Asking

_Hello readers! Super sorry for the super late update but junior year has been super hectic!_

_I wrote this chapter mainly in one sitting, so I may come back and make changes, but enjoy!_

**Chapter 5: Asking**

Tinkerbelle stared at the girl seated across from her, her stomach dropping and her jaw already agape.

_Peter is going to kill me._

Tinkerbelle – or Lillian – had just arrived at the Cardington mansion that noon, and had just enough time to freshen up before her "mother"-in-law forced her to meet "Henry's _darling_ and _perfect_ and _better-than-you_ fiancé." Well, Mrs. Cardington didn't say the latter, but she might as well have.

And so, she now found herself sitting at a small table in the garden's gazebo, across from an unmistakably familiar girl, with unmistakable Wendy-hair, Wendy-eyes, and Wendy-lips.

"Lillian, Eugene, this is Wendy Darling," introduced Mrs. Cardington.

Underneath the table, Tinkerbelle yanked her husband's hand -

"She and Henry are to be married soon."

-and crushed it.

Eugene was fighting hard not to crumble under the pain, maintaining a courteous smile at the Darling, but as soon as his mother's attention turned away, he shot a questioning glare at his now-pale wife.

"Mum, we're not going to be _married_," said Henry in embarrassment, glancing at Wendy, who had no choice but to smile politely.

"Well, it's not yet official," Mrs. Cardington eagerly gushed, "but…" She paused, staring at her daughter-in-law. "Lillian, are you feeling alright? You look rather… sickly."

Tinkerbelle shot up, releasing her husband's hand, and forced upon a smile. She nodded.

"I think she just needs to stretch her legs. We've been sitting in a carriage all day," offered Eugene, to which his wife gratefully nodded.

"May I join you?" asked Wendy.

"Ah, there's no need, Wendy dear. Lillian's – er, how do I put it – a _mute_," whispered Mrs. Cardington.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't anything to say," Wendy retorted, standing up and walking to Tinkerbelle. "Shall we proceed?"

Tinkerbelle nodded, dazed at the predicament in which she now found herself.

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The two women strolled through the rose bushes, silent.

_So the party's for Wendy. Wendy Darling. Wendy Darling and Henry Cardington. _

_Peter mustn't come. He mustn't see her with another. And after so long of searching for her!_

_Oh, why did I invite him?_

Wendy broke Tinkerbelle out of her thoughts. "I'm sorry, if my tagging along is a disturbance. I just needed to get away from the conversation."

Tinkerbelle shook her head and smiled, patting Wendy's hand in reassurance.

"It's just…" Wendy started. "Never mind," she sighed.

Tinkerbelle tilted her head toward Wendy, questioning her with curious eyes, pressing her to continue.

"Well, I can't really explain it…" Wendy began again. "How was it - when _you_ married Eugene?"

Tinkerbelle smiled dreamily.

"I take it that it was not arranged?"

The blonde nodded.

Wendy sighed and smiled at Lillian. "Then you will not understand my arrangement with Henry." Tinkerbelle stared, still pressing Wendy for more. _If she doesn't love Henry, maybe Peter still has a chance._

"I like Henry. He's truly the best man I've met; he's clever, gentle, and respectful to me… but I don't feel it. Well, truth be told, I'm not sure what _it _is supposed to feel like."

Tinkerbelle observed her companion, who was now absentmindedly tracing her fingers on a rose. This was not the Wendy of many years ago, not the one that was with Peter, at least.

She began to wonder if her inviting Peter wasn't a mistake after all.

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Peter admired his reflection in the mirror. He had found an unclaimed tuxedo in the shop's cupboard the day before, and it had fit him well, more or less. He tried to tame his hair, but he had given up, when his efforts were futile.

"Peter, are you sure you want to go?" asked Mother Jane again in the two days that had passed since Lillian came by. "It'll be awfully boring."

"Yes, mother. Don't you want me to find a girl?"

"Well, of course, but a girl that we can _afford_."

"I've no idea what you mean by that," Peter mumbled, annoyed.

"You know _exactly _what I'm talking about."

Indeed he did, but he didn't want to say it aloud. He had seen all the gossip and opposition that came with Tinkerbelle's wedding, but somehow, he felt that with Wendy, it would be different.

The sun was setting, and he'd figured that he should make his way there soon, or he'd be late, since he was walking. He approached his mother and gripped her forearms. "Don't worry mum. I won't do anything stupid."

She patted his face and desperately warned, "Just don't fall in love with the wrong girl."

He smiled, turning away and opening the shop door. "I can't make any promises!"

Jane hoped he was joking.

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Wendy adjusted the jewels around her neck one more time. Mrs. Cardington's maid had picked up her dress just a few hours before, and Wendy had to admit that it was gorgeous. She turned to her left, keeping her eyes on the mirror and admired herself, feeling rather silly as she was dressed for a party she would hate. Still, it was so beautiful, a simple silhouette with exquisite details, a sapphire blue gown sparkling with lace and beads, perfectly matching her eyes and complimenting her brown hair, which was set in a loose bun as curls framed her face.

Wendy was peering in once more at a flowery detail, and wondered if the beads were sewn on by the boy at the shop, when someone knocked at her door.

"Come in," she called, turning her attention away from the mirror.

Henry Cardington stepped it and stopped, speechless at the sight before him. Blushing, he muttered something unintelligible.

Wendy laughed, for she had never seen the quick-tongued Henry at a loss for words. "I'll take that as a compliment, Henry."

He walked across the room towards her, laughing to himself. His black hair was combed neatly back, and he was dressed in a crisp black suit, so the only color on his tall form came from his warm brown eyes.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Wendy quipped.

Keeping his hands politely folded behind his back and standing at a respectable distance from Wendy, he said, "The party is to start soon. Several guests have already arrived."

"Ah yes, 'tis time to show the world that Wendy Darling is off the market, is it not?" Wendy huffed.

"Oh, it's not just you!" Henry sarcastically gasped, as Wendy looped her arm around his. "Henry Cardington is about to break every young lady's heart, walking out arm in arm with none other than _that wench _Wendy Darling."

She halted at the doorway of her room. "She still hasn't said 'yes' you know."

"And he still hasn't given up."

She hated this. Not the fact that Henry Cardington outwardly expressed his feelings for her, but that she couldn't return it. And what made it worse was that he understood how she felt about their circumstances, and wholly accepted it and respected her feelings. She'd rather him be horrible and forceful, so that she could hate him and give a certain "no", but he was the exact opposite.

A few moments of silence passed before either one of them spoke again.

"Don't worry Wendy. In…" - he glanced at his pocket watch – "… approximately an hour or so, you'll 'feel ill' and retire to your bedroom for the rest of the night. I'll send one of the maids to your room with a bottle of champagne." All this he described in quick words and a whisper.

Wendy smiled as they descended the stairs. "Thank you."

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Peter didn't expect it to take long to reach the Cardington mansion, but by the time he had arrived, the mansion was bustling with suited men and sparkling women.

He walked through the tall iron gates and down the front courtyard, which was dotted with a few guests, and around an extravagant fountain, stopping in front of the stairs leading inside the house. The sky was dark, but the stars were out, and he couldn't bear to walk into the crowded, stuffy building. All around, haughty men and women strolled by, flashes of blacks and blues and reds and pinks and diamonds and gold, as they chatted and threw their heads back in false laughter or whispered behind gloved hands.

_For Wendy,_ he thought to himself as he strode into the crowd. He scanned the place, trying not to let the dizzying revelers distract him. He made a mental note to look for a blue gown, which he had helped Mother Jane work on, but there were more blue gowns than he had expected.

Finally, after tireless searching, he found Tinkerbelle.

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"Tinker- argh – Lily!" he shouted across a circle of young girls to his sister clad in green. "Lily!"

Tinkerbelle turned to his direction and excused herself from Eugene, weaving her way to Peter, a nervous smile on her face.

Peter smiled in relief. "Tink! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

She highly doubted that.

"Uh," he chuckled nervously. "Um, how should I tell you?" he muttered, mainly to himself.

Tinkerbelle could see it. He was hopelessly in love, all over again. She feigned ignorance, raising an eyebrow at him, until he finally gave in.

"Wendy's here!" he nearly shouted.

She widened her eyes and threw her hands over her mouth, pretending to be surprised.

Peter nodded vigorously. "I can't find her though."

Of course he couldn't. Wendy had just excused herself moments earlier, and retired from the party, leaving Henry to attend the guests.

Peter's eyes lit up, shocking Tinkerbelle with its suddenness. "I'll look outside! I saw some people out there earlier, maybe I missed her!"

And with that, he dashed towards the door, and disappeared into the crowd.

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Peter's hopes fell when he failed to find Wendy in the courtyard. He was about to go back inside and wish Tinkerbelle a good night when a flash of blue from above caught his eye. He backed away from the mansion so that he could trace the source of the blue… and there she was, leaning on a balcony at the edge of the mansion, his Wendy.

He had to get up there. Glancing around to make sure that no one was looking, he ran into the grove of oak trees beneath Wendy's balcony and began to climb.

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She was watching the stars, swirling the rosy champagne in one hand while the other rested on the balcony's railing. True, she was supposed to be sick and should be inside, taking care that none of the guests in the courtyard would see through her pretense, but she figured they were too absorbed in their own affairs to realize that Wendy Darling was enjoying champagne in her bedroom rather than attending her own party.

She had found herself drawn to a pair of especially bright stars in the east and was absentmindedly admiring them when a rustle from the oak trees caught her attention.

She leaned forward, trying to make out the disturbance, when a figure emerged from the sea of branches and leaves and lunged at her balcony.

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Peter pulled himself up, and swung over the railing, unaware that a terrified Wendy had backed up and was ready to cry for help. Looking up, he met her widened eyes and pressed his palms to mouth just as she was about to scream.

What was he supposed to say?_ Hi Wendy, you probably don't recognize me but I'm Peter Pan and I taught you how to fly and swordfight and we fell in love – well, at least, _I _fell in love with you, like, years ago, and I've come back for you, and… hell, you look beautiful tonight._

He gulped as she scratched at his arms, and in desperation, he shouted, "Wendy! Wendy! You know me!"

She stopped and lowered her hands as recognition dawned on her face. Peter slowly removed his hands and relaxed when she seemed to be calming down.

He backed away and readjusted his suit, brushing off leaves, but kept his eyes glued on Wendy's. _Do you remember?_

"You're the boy, from the dress shop," she said, breathless.

He felt his heart drop, but played along.

"Yeah," he said.

"_Haven't you heard of a front door?"_she shrieked, slamming a fist on the balcony railing and spilling her glass of champagne.

Peter was amused. "I prefer windows and balconies."

"You scared _the hell_ out of me! What do you think you're doing? Climbing onto people's balconies!"

"Well, it's not like Cardington would've let me climb her mahogany stairs," Peter smirked, analyzing Wendy's every response and delighted at her use of profanity.

Setting down her glass with a loud clank, she crossed her arms. "How did you even get here anyway? I mean, you're not exactly of blue blood."

"Hm," Peter huffed, narrowing his eyes. "I thought you'd be different."

"I've no idea what you're saying," Wendy replied, her nose in the air.

"You're like Mrs. Cardington."

At that comparison, Wendy turned away, facing the trees, clenching her jaw. Who was _he_ to make that deduction? "Then I guess I'll have to make you leave," she stated.

Peter joined Wendy in looking at the treetops, leaning his elbows against the balcony so that he was shoulder to shoulder with her. She spared him an annoyed glance, and he could feel her tense up at his closeness. Still, she acted indifferent.

He leaned into her ear and whispered, "So you were going to let me stay?"

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His breath made her shudder, and she could feel herself growing hot, _mostly_ because of anger.

She straightened up, but didn't move back, standing her ground. "Who," she began coolly, "do you think you are?"

It was an earnest question. He was but a common dressmaker, so he had no business at a gathering as such. And he definitely had no reason to climb into her room and talk to her. Still, when she glared into his green eyes, that familiar feeling came back again, so that her indignity at his intrusion dissipated, and she was left mostly curious.

"_Who _are _you_?" he retorted with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Don't play dumb. You know my name," Wendy replied, reaching for her glass and filling it from the bottle she let stand on the floor.

"Yes. Wendy Darling. But not Cardington. So what's your business staying here?"

"I should be asking you that," she said, swirling the contents of her glass and taking a sip.

"I'm the brother of Lillian Cardington. I take it that you haven't met her?"

"I have," said Wendy, her composure softening at the mention of her new friend. "She's lucky," Wendy mused, a smile playing on her lips.

Confused, Peter asked, "You've met her?"

Wendy nodded behind another sip.

"That's strange. She didn't mention you."

"Why would she?"

Choosing to ignore Wendy's question, Peter changed the subject. "What do you mean she's lucky?"

Wendy turned to Peter. "Why? You don't think she is?"

Peter shrugged, reaching for the champagne bottle and taking a swig.

Tolerating his lack of manners, Wendy turned her attention to the stars. "She chose who she wanted to marry, and she's obviously very much in love with him."

Turning his eyes up as well, Peter hopefully stated, "I'm sure you're going to choose when the time comes."

Wendy joylessly laughed. "The time's come and gone," she said, her voice cracking, "and I didn't choose."

Peter, drowsy under the alcohol, didn't yet understand. "What do you mean?"

"Don't act like you don't know."

"I don't."

Wendy was silent for a few minutes as Peter took a few more gulps from the bottle. She had never said it aloud, not yet anyway. But here, underneath the stars and sweet liquor, next to a familiar, different sort of company, it was easier for her to admit it. "Well," she began, "up here, it's not about marrying who you want. It's about marrying whoever makes your family look good."

"And who makes your family look good?"

"Henry Cardington." At that, Peter was jolted into sobriety. It made cruel sense now – this party, Wendy's sudden reappearance, her staying at the mansion, Tinkerbelle keeping it from him.

"Have you said yes?" Peter croaked.

Wendy lowered her eyes. "I will." She had decided but a few moments ago, alone in her room, relieved that she was away from the crowd with a bottle of champagne. She didn't love Henry, but she could more than tolerate him, and she was sure she would grow to love him one day, as her mother did with her father.

"Will you be happy?"

Wendy sadly smiled, and for the first time that night, all traces of coldness and bitterness were gone from her face. Peter stared at her, admiring the way the moonlight caressed her face, his heart breaking at the sadness in her eyes.

"Happiness is a lot to ask for."

"That's why you look for it."

Wendy turned herself to face the strange boy next to her, so that she was leaning against the railing on one elbow. She scanned his features – his face, his hair, his lean build – and froze on his eyes, blue on green, like what had happened at the shop. Again, familiarity flooded her as she studied the boy who made her feel many things at once, more than any man has ever made her feel, who had made her _curse_ for goodness' sake, a boy that seemed to have emerged from dream.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"You don't remember." It was statement, not a question, and the way Peter said it pricked Wendy's heart.

"Should I?"

"I'm a boy."

"You're a man."

"No! I came from the forest."

"I hardly believe that."

"It's true. I lived in the forest not far from here, with a bunch of other boys, the Lost Boys!"

"Is that so?" Wendy asked, smiling. It had been many years since she heard a good story.

"Aye," Peter nodded, now smiling. "We fought pirates" –

"Pirates? In the forest?"

" – and Indians" –

"That's an incorrect term – "

"- and there were mermaids too!"

Wendy gasped, and Peter was glad that her cynicism had melted away, that she had not lost the wonder of many years ago.

"We had adventures every single day, and I was their fearless leader!"

"Was?"

"Was."

"What happened?"

"I was in the city one night, and I heard a girl telling _stories._"

"I used to tell stories!"

"I know."

"Well, go on!"

"Okay. One night, I was visiting her, listening to 'Cinderella' when I lost my shadow."

"That's absurd."

"Will you just let me tell my story?"

Wendy nodded, sipping her champagne.

"Well, anyway, I couldn't do without my shadow, so I came back one night, when she was sleeping, to look for it. Girls are very light sleepers - she woke up and found me."

"How exciting."

"Yes," Peter nodded seriously. "She was very nice, and motherly. She sewed my shadow back on, and in return for her service, I took her to the forest!"

Wendy gasped.

"What?"

"That's kidnap!" she shrieked, aghast.

"No! She wanted to go!"

"Well, I wouldn't have."

Peter laughed at the irony. "You'd be surprised."

"Continue," she urged.

"We headed to the forest, where she and I became the mother and father of the Lost Boys. We had many adventures together…" Peter ominously paused for dramatic effect, "…until she was kidnapped by the pirates!"

"How terrible!" Wendy gasped in mock concern.

Peter waved a hand at her. "Oh, no worries. I saved her. Naturally."

"I'm sure she played a part in saving herself," Wendy deduced, crossing her arms.

Peter shrugged. "More or less."

Wendy was amused at his cocky boyishness. "What happened next?"

Peter turned to look at Wendy, eyeing her lips.

"What happened?"

Peter peered at Wendy from under his lashes, and in a low voice, he answered.

"She _thimbled_ me."

Wendy froze, knowing what that meant, although unsure of how she knew. "Then what?" she asked softly, breaking eye contact from the intensity of Peter's eyes.

"She left."'

"That's it?" she asked, louder.

"Yeah. She had to return to her mother. Faithful girl, she was."

"I wouldn't have gone back."

Taking the last gulp of champagne, Peter replied, "I wish she didn't. But she did, so I went to the city to look for her, and stayed here ever since."

Although she felt she already knew the answer, Wendy had to ask. "Have you found her?"

Peter took a step closer to Wendy. "Yes," he answered, trying to convey to her that he had found her, that she was standing right in front of him," but I'm not sure she remembers me."

She turned and faced him, her cheeks warm and rosy from the alcohol, and was captivated again by his green eyes.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Peter didn't answer, but threw himself over the balcony and into the trees, startling Wendy from her trance.

"Hey!" she shouted. "What're" –

He returned, disheveled as he was when he had first climbed onto her balcony, before she could shout another word. Smoothing down his jacket, he got onto one knee, took Wendy's free hand in one of his, and slipped a hard smooth object into her palm. He then brushed the back of her hand with his lips, got up, bid her a quiet goodnight, and disappeared once again into the trees.

Stunned, Wendy muttered once more into the wind, "Who are you?"

Looking down on her hand, she opened her palm and got an answer.


	7. Yes

_hello everyone. It's been a while, so here's chapter 6!_

_sorry for making you wait, only to get..._

**Chapter 6: Yes**

A soft cool breeze nudged her, swinging her lightly back and forth as a few loose _hairs_ found their way into her mouth. Her cheeks were still warm from the _champagne._

Wendy stood still for a few moments after the leaves stopped rustling in the trees, after she was sure that the boy had left. The boy! She still hadn't even learned his name!

Still tightly clutching the small smooth object in her hands, which was now warm from her heat, Wendy couldn't help but smile at her predicament.

A nameless, mysterious boy had just found his way onto her balcony and captivated her, only to leave nothing behind but a small clue. It was rather like "Cinderella".

_Only I'm not his prince. Or rather, he's not my princess. Or the other way around; I'm not his princess, and he'll never be my prince, because Henry's my prince. And I'm his princess. And if a third one came into a mix, why that'll be quite a mess. A princess and two princes!_

Wendy burst out laughing a very un-lady-like cackle. Upon hearing herself, she laughed even more and soon found herself in a hysterical fit, bending over, clutching her stomach and red in the face.

"Ahem… Wendy?"

She immediately spun around, and, losing her balance, stopped with one palm and a clenched fist on Henry's chest, locking her eyes with his, while his hands delicately supported her elbows. She felt him tense, his eyes wide, while a light blush appeared on his cheeks. He gulped.

"Hullo Henry," she breathed, and only then, having heard her voice, Wendy realized how intoxicated she was. She never held her alcohol well in the few times she had tried it.

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but only a croak emerged from his futile attempts at talking. Wendy couldn't help but break away from him to find herself in another fit of laughter, while Henry found a few precious seconds to regain his composure.

"You're pink," he said teasingly, stifling his blush as he folded his hands behind his back and smiled.

"Why," Wendy began, stopping to bend over in a bout of giggles, "why – I think – I think I am!" She laughed a bit more, then, struggling to put herself together, burped. "I feel pink," she mused, gently patting her cheeks, a faint smile lingering on her face.

xxxxxxxxx

Henry felt the cursed blush rising, only this time, he couldn't stifle the heat. She was just so… wonderful at that moment, rosy and free and beautiful. Since he had known her for those few months, she never stopped surprising him, and with each surprise, he fell harder and harder.

The first time they laid eyes on each other, he took note of her prettiness, nothing else. She was to be like the other girls Mother had set him up with.

The first time he talked to her, he found himself passionately debating with her (about the role of the monarchy in the increasingly democratic political sphere) only twenty minutes into their conversation.

The first time he walked with her, he found himself marveling with her at the incredible resiliency of the English wildflowers that decorated her country home.

The first time he had dinner with her, he found that she had an extraordinary talent at weaving stories out of thin air.

And soon, when he found that he looked forward to seeing her, he realized he had fallen for her.

Xxxxxxxxx

"Henry?" Wendy called. "You're blushing. Again."

He quietly cursed himself, but cleared his throat, in an attempt to seem unflustered. "Wendy, I- ahem – I'll leave you to rest, it seems that Mother… is calling for me." He exited the balcony, ready to make his way out, but Wendy followed, rushing into her room and setting the object the boy had left on the dresser by the balcony doors.

"Henry!" Wendy called again. "I'd hear if she was actually calling you! I'm not _that_ drunk!" she huffed, exasperated, grabbing Henry's sleeve.

She turned him to face her, but he kept his eyes turned away.

"I can see the pink, you know, I don't understand why you're trying to hide it." _Maybe I am drunk._

"Wendy, you need rest."

"No. It's not like I don't know that you like me. You haven't been exactly hiding it."

Henry felt his face growing hotter by the second. _Dear God, get me out of here._

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and used all of his strength to look into her eyes without kissing her. "Wendy," he repeated, "you need rest. I'll send one of the maids up to – "

"You know," Wendy began, "if I'm going to be your future wife, you're going to have to stop doing this every time I arouse you."

_So. Very. Drunk._

Henry's mouth fell to the floor and all restraints on his creeping blush left him. "Wha – I'm not – What?"

"Yes, Henry."

"Wendy, you are very, _very_ drunk right now, you should – "

"Yes Henry!" Wendy shouted insistently, bouncing her shoulders in a frustrated dance.

He paused, extremely baffled and slightly frightened. "Yes what?" he asked gently, afraid to trigger another snide comment.

"Yes," Wendy said again, this time softer, and more heartfelt. "I'll marry you."

It seemed to be a never ending night of bewilderment for poor Henry Cardington. As much as it pained him to say it, he mumbled, "No, Wendy."

"Yes!"

"_No!_" he shot back. "You're not thinking straight. If you're going to say yes, I'd prefer that you're sober, and, frankly, in a better mood."

"I'm not drunk!" Wendy insisted, as Henry helped her to her bed.

"Yes, you are."

"_No! I'm not_!" She resisted his attempts to get her to rest, and cupped his face in her hands, pulling him close. "I'm. Going. To. _Marry. You_."

Henry sighed. "Get to bed Wendy." He lifted his hands to remove her grasp, until she pulled him to her lips in one swift jerk.

He had imagined this moment many times but never like this. For one, it hurt a bit, teeth against flesh against teeth. But… how could he _ever_ have the strength to pull away? So he fit his lips with hers, and it was bliss.

He slowly pulled his lips away, leaving Wendy's face slightly tilted up towards him, her eyes still closed and her lips slightly parted. He reveled in the brief moment before she opened her eyes and met his with a beautiful blue.

"You're right, I'm drunk," she whispered, breathless. He felt his heart drop, until she spoke again. "But I wasn't, when I decided."

Henry brought his hands up to her wrist and brought them down, but held on to them. "Wendy, We can't. Not like this."

"You love me don't you?" Wendy asked, confused.

"I should be the one asking you," Henry replied.

He waited for her to answer, but dreaded what she might say. "No, I don't," Wendy sighed.

At those three words, he felt his heart crumble and his body shatter. It wasn't that he was not expecting it. He knew that his feelings were, as pathetic as it sounded, one sided. But the air between them was heavy with the truth hanging out in the open, so very real and painful, so it hurt more than he had imagined.

Wendy spoke again. "But I know I will." She took his hands in hers and peered intently into his eyes, trying to convey to him through her drunkenness that she believed she could love him one day, with or without trying. It was a promise.

"Wendy... No," Henry sighed in a cracking whisper. He tugged his hands from hers, and turned towards the door.

In one final attempt to make him stay, Wendy brought one hand up to his cheek and gently guided him to face her. "Please," she begged. "I'm the one asking you now. I can't bear it any more, all the senseless match-making, the dull parties, the falsities. It's a cage! A prison! My life is going nowhere, and it never will! You're my only release Henry. You're different, you're… you're smart, and wonderful, and real. Henry… marry me."

At that, he broke away completely from the girl. He ran his hands over his face, blinking back tears, and combed his fingers through his hair. He repeated his motions for a few times, pacing back and forth, until he spoke again, this time in a strained voice.

"Wendy! You- You _can't do this to me. _You cannot, out of the blue, just ask me to marry you!" he nearly shouted. "It's," he sighed, "it's not fair to me. If that's all I am to you, a – a back-up, a _last resort_, then I'd rather not marry you at all!"

"But you're not!" She realized it when she spoke those words. She realized then why she never gave him a direct answer. "I don't know what it feels like to fall in love," she began slowly.

Henry, bedraggled and weary, looked up at her.

"All I know is that I can't bear the thought of saying 'no.'"

Was it because she did not want to hurt him? Was it merely because she wanted to hold on to him as a back-up, as he said so himself? Or was it because she truly cared for him, not in the sense of a friend, but in the sense of something more? Her words were ambiguous to herself, not to mention to the man in front of her.

"What do you want, Wendy?"

"... I want," she said softly. "I want someone that I can talk to… about plants… and books… and the whole wide world."

Henry listened and smiled.

"Someone who doesn't call me 'dear' or 'darling,' but Wendy. Like an equal." A faint smile played on her lips as well. "Someone that can get me out of parties, and sneak me a bottle of champagne while he's at it... Someone that will always listen to me even when I'm drunk."

And when Henry let out a soft chuckle, Wendy felt a spark in her heart. They stood still for what seemed like centuries, staring at each other, long after the smile melted off of Henry's face, for so long that Wendy's intoxicated mind wandered off into the deepness of Henry's eyes. She had never noticed it before, but his eyes were the color of soil, deep, dark, and soft, the type of soil that nourished vegetable gardens and delicate flowers.

"Yes, Wendy."

"Yes what?"

Both were tired, emotionally drained and weary, and both knew it was going to happen. They resigned to what was meant to be in their social circle – two oddities to become one. They walked up to each other, and met in the middle, hands in hands, face to face.

"I'll marry you."

Wendy leaned up and kissed her fiancé.

Xxxxxxxxx

A sharp headache and raspy throat woke Wendy up. She felt her hand rise and fall, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself curled up next to Henry, her hand resting on his heaving chest. The room was dimly lit by the early blue dawn, and she could faintly make out her fiancé's sleeping features.

It was strange that only yesterday, the closest they had been to each other were linked arms. Now, she was lying next to him, absent-mindedly tracing his soft lips and pronounced jaw line with her fingers. It was so intimate a gesture, yet Wendy couldn't help but think that after the events of the night before, they had formed a stronger bond that made her actions seem natural and comfortable.

She admired the gentle landscapes of his face, the subtle slopes of his nose and cheekbones, and they way his hair bunched up at the front of his head. She had never seen it undone, but she decided that she liked the way he naturally looked.

Eyes still closed, he muttered, "Good morning, Wendy."

She chuckled.

"What is it?" he asked, opening his eyes, to which Wendy felt a warm sensation creep up from her stomach to her cheeks. She let it flow freely, knowing that she will indeed fall in love with him. _If I already haven't._

She smiled up at him. "It's just, even when you're asleep, you still sound so… refined."

"Mm. Really?" he asked smoothly.

She had never seen him so relaxed before, and it was a pleasant surprise. "Yes, really. I mean, listen to me, I sound like a frog."

"You sound perfect."

"You know flattery doesn't work on me."

"It's the truth. You're beautiful in every meaning of the word."

"Well, I certainly don't feel beautiful," Wendy remarked. "Come on now, get up." She rose from her bed. "We must get ready before the rest of the house wakes up. Look at us! We're still in last night's clothes."

Indeed they were. Wendy assumed she had fallen asleep kissing Henry, and he was just too considerate to leave, but now, the lace and embellishments on her dress were starting to scratch her skin, her head throbbed, and her skin was sticky from the lack of having a bath. Henry himself was still in his tuxedo, save the jacket, but it seemed like he didn't mind one bit.

"Henry!" she prodded him as he began to drift off to sleep again. "Get up! The maids will talk!"

He sighed playfully and sat up. "Alright, alright!"

She urged him up and pushed him out the door.

"I'll see you at breakfast," she quipped with a haughty smile before shutting the door behind him.

Xxxxxxxxx

Gathering her hair in a ribbon, she collected her bath items. She wasn't humming, like the maidens in her stories did when they fell in love, but she was smiling, and she supposed that was enough. She wasn't ecstatic, no, but she felt warm and content, and even excited.

Soon, she found herself deciding what kinds of plants she'd want in her – and Henry's – greenhouse when they married, what kinds of books they'd fill their library with, and what places they could travel too, when they had time. _True, we'll probably have to wait until retirement before we could visit the Caribbean, but better late than never!_

So, her thoughts wandered while she bathed, conjuring the best possible scenario of life with Henry, and she realized it wasn't bad at all. She wasn't settling for anything, but might even be getting the life she had always wanted.

It wasn't until she returned to her room and sat at her dresser to brush her hair when she caught glimpse of the object the boy had left her the previous night.

An acorn.

She had almost forgotten about him, but there it sat, an assuming acorn, a clue to the mysterious boy.

She picked it up and rolled it in her palms. The boy had left her an acorn, which he undoubtedly plucked from the oak trees outside her balcony.

_What – _

It hit her. No, it washed over her like powerful waves.

Never Land waves.

A heavy shower of glittering pixie dust.

The force of wind on her face, running over her arms, her body, her legs, her soft nightgown billowing in the wind.

Stars. Sky.

The truth.

Memories.

They came flooding back and she couldn't stop them.

xxxxxxxxx

_... A Henry centric chapter... I don't know about you guys, but i think i'm getting attached to him._

_but more Peter/Wendy coming up next! I promise._

_Also, i'd appreciate some constructive criticism. :)_


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